Heathens
by FurysSIN
Summary: A new, fairly exclusive club is rumored to have opened up. How do you get in? Who's good or bad enough to actually be told the secret. Ikle Sickle Potter mustn't know how to get in or the club will move and the guest list starts over. Undertones of Dramione, thoughts of GW/BZ. Definitely an EWE
1. Chapter 1: Belle Reve

"Ginny," she whined, frustrated with the lack of information on where they were headed.

"Just a bit farther up." Her friend intoned.

Ginny was practically throwing the pair of them down the rambling Alleyway, so sure of where she was leading them.

"You need the excitement, 'Mione. Ron's being a swot."

The brunette witch scowled but could only agree. Her boyfriend had again slighted her over her love of books. And Ginny had heard it. Her younger friend had quickly hustled the man out of their flat and shoved herself into the bathroom with a new bottle of Sleekeazy's. They were going out. There was a new place that Ginny had heard about from Harry and there was no way that Hermione was going to be moping around her room instead of accompanying her.

"What exactly did Harry say about this club?"

Her best friend's boyfriend wasn't exactly in love with the idea of dance clubs. His endorsement could not be any good. Ginny mumbled her response, the snow around them further dimming her volume. Hermione pursed her lips together before asking again, her tone narrowing her eyes.

"Ginerva Molly Weasley. Tell me right now what Harry said about this place."

The redhead's ears flushed as deep as her hair. Hermione groaned and spun her friend around to face her. The younger witch skirted out of her reach and nervously glanced down.

"He's been stomping around Grimmauld Place going on about how the Ministry couldn't get past the front door."

Hermione paled. It was quite clear to her between being found on Knockturn Alley and the Ministry's finest Aurors being unable to get in, that this was a last ditch holdout from the War. Ginny read the expression on the other woman's face and rolled her eyes.

"No one is going to grab you. No one is going to hurt you, Hermione. You know as well as I that all the Death Eaters even capable of dueling with you are all in Azkaban."

All but one, Hermione thought sourly. But she allowed Ginny to march them closer to a staircase leading over Dystyal Phaelanges, a shop featuring some odd furniture styles. Most of the skeletons in the shop window were shaped into tables and chandeliers. It was a grim distraction from who might be waiting for them upstairs.

The stairs creaked just a bit as the pair of witches approached the top. The white door before them contrasted horribly with the grim atmosphere of the alleyway infamous for the amount of Dark artefacts and parsable information on Dark spells and charms.

Ginny thrust the door open and stumbled in, Hermione close on her heels. It was a habit they had both picked up during that last year. The better to cover one's back and the important tactic of knocking the inhabitants of the room off balance with surprise. Not that there was anyone in here to stutter from astonishment. Moreover, Ginny had stopped short in her own amazement at the emptiness. Hermione almost pushed the poor girl over.

They caught themselves slowly in the center of a small, square room, decorated almost exclusively in the color of sin. The floor started off in a dazzling white marble near the door, with dark ebony veins ripping through it as they reached towards to opposite wall. Four black stone columns erupted from the floor near the outside walls. The walls themselves seemed coated in velvet and Ginny reached out to touch it. The ginger-haired witch frowned as the wall seemed to pull away from her, not allowing her fingers to graze across its surface. The light for the room fell down from the ceiling, having been nestled in a black chandelier, dark glass surrounding the candles. No other doors but the one the pair had entered through were visible.

Hermione frowned. The magic used to create the atmosphere they were in was almost palpable. Yet there was an air of familiarity to it. Like she both knew the caster and the charms involved. Knowing the charms most used to create rooms and homes was simple enough; she herself had all but devoured every book she could find on magic. But the person that left this air, this air of disbelief? She could think of no one. She found herself being drawn forward towards the center of the room, her skin itching in anticipation.

Something stirred behind them and the witches whirled, drawing their wands timidly. The War was long over and neither wanted to add to the nightmares that came behind it. The bushy-haired witch gaped at the dark-skinned man that had appeared behind them. He had not been there before, had he? Nor had he made any popping noise like he had Apparated in after them.

"Who do you know?" The man's voice penetrated the pair of witches to the core.

Hermione could see Ginny viably bristle at the question. Apparently, Harry had neglected to mention there was some sort of passphrase to gain entrance.

Gathering up her voice, she spoke up tremulously. "I was made aware that this lounge was for all to use."

"You mean you thought you could just waltz in here? Relashio."

The wizard snorted with amusement and derision as he flicked his wand. Hermione and Ginny had both lowered their wands from the man beforehand and hadn't the presence to bring them back up with shields fast enough. The pair of witches struggled against the push of the Revulsion Jinx forcing them from the building. Hermione grabbed the railing as Ginny grabbed for her hand, just barely grasping each as they tumbled from the second-floor landing.

The Weasley girl cast a large cushioning charm on the snow below them and they dropped from the railing that Hermione had snagged. They were both irritated, Hermione intrigued as well. What could that room be hiding? And who was that man? He tugged at her memory with a smirk.

"Well, that was quite rude." Ginny Weasley huffed her annoyance at their graceless ejection as she dusted the snow from her clothing.

* * *

"Why'd you have me send them away? They could have been great fun." Blaise pouted, a bit put out by the request of his friend.

The blond moved slowly from the low couch he reclined on, although he made no move to completely vacate the fixture. The entire establishment had taken in the short exchange of the Secret Keeper and the two witches hoping to gain entry. Some had snickered; others had catcalled and booed. Members of the _Light_ were not well welcomed here. And that pair. That pair was an atrocity waiting to happen.

Draco remembered the appraising glances that Granger has received from Death Eaters hidden in the shadows of his childhood home. They had whispered of the idea of her being the guest of _honor_ in their next revel. The idea had almost made him lose his lunch. Both then and now. The nerve of that buck-toothed, pushy, little witch. He still thought of her as the tiny little mudblood that slapped him in third year. Even after the last year of Hogwarts. Mudblood was his name for her.

He frowned gently as Blaise pushed for an answer. A flick of his wrist and the dark Italian stopped simpering and bemoaning the loss of the two possible playthings.

"They will not be toys, Blaise. The Golden Trio's sister, girlfriend, and best friend is just as untouchable as the Gryffindor Princess herself. Bloody Granger might as well be the Queen and Weaslette the Princess now."

"Still, why could we not let them in? The Watchit didn't make a sound at their entry."

He was referring to the small creature sitting in the corner of the larger portion of the room. Nott had brought it in one night, claiming it to be a cross between a Jarvey, a Knarl, and two Kneazles. Malfoy snorted in disbelief. All three of those types of creatures were more likely to eat each other than anything. A Knarl and a Jarvey, maybe; the Watchit had an elongated body to match the ferret-like shape of the Jarvey. And it had the lucky disposition of sharp tendrils of fur; almost like it should have had quills. As for the matter at hand, resting client decisions on the creature was not something Draco Malfoy made a habit of. Even if the creature had a nasty habit of calling out a wizard's most feared defects of both character and looks.

"You know as well as I that they would be eaten alive by our compatriots. We have a bit more death around our ears than the Order members ever did."

Draco's silver-gray eyes narrowed as the words tumbled out, soft enough that only his friend sitting close to him could hear.

"Well then, Draco. I'm going to steal that lovely woman from Nott and have my way with her. Care to join me?"

Blaise motioned towards a pug-nosed witch standing by a long bar of dark wood, chatting amicably with the man on the other side of it. Draco rolled his eyes and motioned for his friend to go on without him. The Italian wizard's idea of having his way with her was dancing till neither could move the next morning.

To be honest, the Malfoy heir was partially amused to see the witch that was standing at the bar. Pansy Parkinson had all but dismissed him when he decided to return to Hogwarts for his repeat of seventh year. She had held fast to the blood purity scam their forefathers had perpetuated. She had become insufferable even before that, assuming that they would be paired off in traditional pureblood fashion. While she had wilted after much of the student body had turned on her for hoping to offer up the Golden Boy in the Battle of Hogwarts, the vivacious young woman still had a mean kick to her. Mean-spiritedness had lost its appeal quite thoroughly. And to see her here was an odd bout of interest.

A blonde wafted through the room towards him and he pushed the pureblooded witch from his mind.

"I'm not quite sure how you keep the Nargles away, Draco. The boughs of holly in the foyer should be absolutely swarming with them."

"Loony - Luna," Draco chuckled. "That's why I have you helping me. Besides, I have the utmost confidence in the Dirigible tree you planted at the Manor."

Luna smiled and settled down on the couch at his feet.

"It's a bush. Why didn't you let my friends in?"

Malfoy stood up, shaking his head over the refusal to all the two members of the Order of the Phoenix into his club. He just couldn't see the two witches loitering around the room with the sons and daughters of Death Eaters, disgraced politicians, and ne'er do wells such as he.

"I think you're just worried how she'll see you now. I think you should let her in."

The blond wizard looked down, displeased at himself for how easily the younger Ravenclaw had seen through him. As per usual. He rose and offered his arm to the witch.

"And what would you have me do about it? They will treat her much the same way I did in school."

His scowl worked around his words, hoping to convince the lovely Lovegood to drop it at least. She was the only one he had felt truly forgiven him. To be fair, she was just trapped in his basement. Granger, she had a whole 'nother host of incidents that needed to be made up for. The times they had hexed her and taunted specifically her. He thought about the times he wished death upon her just for being better than him. The endless torment that had begun the moment they figured out the swot was a bookworm and not naturally one of their kind. Or so he had been taught for years. He reflected on just how easily spells seemed to come to her. His favorite was her skill with Avis and when she had used the twittering birds to chase the Weasel from a classroom.

A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him from his reverie.

"Draco, let's go out and cool off a bit. The amount of wrackspurts around you is alarming."

Luna tugged on his sleeve, softly pulling him towards the door that her two friends had been shown no long before.

* * *

A/N: Inspired by the Twenty One Pilots song, Heathens. I need more music like it. Not the traditional alt-pop stuff that Twenty One Pilots does, but the creepy, dark Slytherin-y music that is Heathens. Leave me suggestions with your reviews. I was planning on doing mostly one-shots in and about the club told through the different chapters, although this chapter kinda morphed into its own plot line. This will likely have a T or M rating just for some of the concepts I hope to touch on throughout it. But there will be some fluff!

-Sin


	2. Chapter 2: Dancing Skeletons

**A/N: Small scenes of PTSD and anxiety. Not the triggers for the characters suffering from it, but definite mention of symptoms.**

* * *

A scream wrenched her up in her bed, sweat drenching her night shirt. She slapped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately to catch her breath.

"I can't handle these dreams any longer." She whispered, her fingers trembling against her lips.

As softly as she could, the witch stumbled out of her bed and into the bathroom. There, on the counter, was a small cabinet. She pulled one of the doors open and pulled out a small vial of Dreamless Sleep. It was her third in as many days. The bushy-haired woman tossed her head back, the dreadful purple potion slipping down her throat and sank down to the floor.

She should move, before the drowsiness kicked in completely. It was difficult to push past that non-existent curtain holding her in the room. The dark no longer bothered her, but the open rooms made her draw her breath tight, always searching the shadows.

Ginny was going to be irritable in the morning, especially if she remained in the small bathroom they shared. Hermione gathered herself carefully, aware of how fragile she was after the blinding pain of the knife in her heart and in her dreams. It was trying to consume her. April and March were not her favorite months of the year. Even November and December were better than this. She settled back into her bed and shut her eyes for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Let's get those skeletons dancing!" The dark skinned wizard roared, his wand at his throat.

The crowd roared back and the bartenders quickly added their magic to the muffling charms around the lowered dance floor and stage. The band was a relatively unknown one. A modge-podge of muggleborns and half-bloods, they were quite adept at several popular songs from Muggle and Wizarding cultures. Not that he would admit it. Too many of the regular patrons were from his side in the war. All were forbidden from discussing the war. All were forbidden from complaining of the restitution and restrictions placed on them. But they were all lucky. Only a few people with the Mark had escaped Azkaban, himself included, and none of them completely. All had been held there awaiting the trials from the small group of people that had been brought for the Common Wizengamot as it was being called. It had taken the Aurors and the Order months to weed through people looking for the most unbiased witches and wizards that could be found after the devastation; all of which any one with close ties to the hatred waited on that lonely island.

"I torture you, take my hand through the flames; I torture you."

The song jerked Draco out of his head. The group of witches and wizards on stage were going to get him killed tonight. While the song was quite likely one of his personal favorites they had brought from the Muggle world, May was fast approaching and the youngest Malfoy had no desire to remind the dark hearted creatures that haunted his home away from home.

He shook his head once as he caught the eye of the honey-haired witch sing the chorus. She smirked darkly and kept purring the words to the hypnotized dancers. _Damn that witch._ She was too like the other and knew it. Adrestia was going to be the death of him. The blond heir to untold wealth had survived war and torture, the inescapable trials only to be killed at the hands of vengeance. Her name's irony had not escaped him. Her two brothers were just as bad. Timorus and Metus loved the whole atmosphere of the bar and had been the ones to approach him about performing live on some nights. Draco shuddered at the grins the twins had shared that night.

The man that introduced them made his way over to Malfoy, a small smile gracing his lips. Blaise nodded his head at his boss and friend before settling in one of the chairs around the table. The haunted melody pushed through the dual layers of muffling charms, grating on his chalkboard of nerves.

"Blaise, can't you get them to be sensible for once?" Draco inquired, a soft glare in his eyes.

The twenty two year-old laughed at him, a small laugh, but still at him.

"Like you don't enjoy flirting with the idea of being torn apart by them. I know your secrets well, my friend."

Draco glared at his friend. It was hard to accept, but he was right about knowing his secrets. Only two had really managed to slip past all the pureblood defenses that he had been groomed to use. Blaise Zabini had this cool face about himself and, following a Slytherin ideal of self-preservation, disappeared through much of the wars. And then Luna. He was still surprised that she was his friend when the war had ended only four years ago. The woman had damn near died in his basement. How she could just waltz right up to him was anyone's guess.

The blond witch on his mind was, unfortunately, not here tonight. Something about going across the pond to look for Curatrix in the Americas. She claimed that the creatures that resided in Wizarding Europe were sick and corrupted. Draco snorted. Just another one of her mythical beasts. But putting up with Luna's eccentrics was simple compared to the demands and eccentricities of a power hunger monster that had taken over ones home. The blood seemed to drench every wall in his home, every rug and tapestry.

Blaise reached over and snapped his fingers in Malfoy's face.

"Don't go down that rabbit hole, mate. I could see it on your face."

Draco shook his head gently to clear the dark brooding thoughts from the forefront of his mind. The proprietor of Belle Reve waved a hand over at the bar and they quickly put together his current, favorite vice. The voice of the band pulled his attention back to the stage as the singer announced a break in their set. He slid off the leather arm chair and ventured over to her.

The fine-boned witch gave him a smirk worthy of his mother. Draco's facial expressions were most definitely learned from his mother, not Lucius. She knew exactly why the man was approaching her.

"Well, little Dragon. I hope you enjoyed the songs tonight. I know how much it's your favorite."

Her smoky voice reverberated down his spine, almost wrapping its way into his bones. Draco rolled his neck, an exasperated sigh falling from his mouth.

"Just don't get me killed, little witch. I pay your bills."

Her smirk grew in strength and she followed her brothers into a back room to grab some drinks. The youngest Malfoy turned back to his private table. Blaise grinned wickedly.

"You can try all you want, but she won't be your toy."

Silver eyes darkened into yet another glare at his good friend.

A young witch moved forward and placed a silver disc on their table and floated a chunk of glass over to rest on top of it. Draco mused over the glass marra pipe in front of him, its jelly fish head resting on the glass vase filled with liquid enchanted to look like the molten gold of Felix Felicis. There were similar works of art on various tables throughout the club, albeit with different hues in them. After a number of attempts to smash the vases for the falsified potion, only Draco's table was to be given the gold hued liquid. Blaise grasped one of the glass tubes snaking away from the bulbous head and pulled a long tendril of smoke through it.

"So what are you going to do about the girls?" He whispered softly, ignoring that there was always a powerful Muffliato charm around Draco's table.

Even with no names, the Malfoy heir knew exactly who the other wizard was referring to. Without fail, once a week, the Weaslette and Granger both attempted entry. Granger was, of course, unrelenting in her quest for entry. The name of the club was not well known, but he was sure the muggleborn was aware of it. Belle Reve. Only the muggleborns and half-bloods would catch the reference. Luna had brought him a comic that boasted the name being that of a super prison. The symbolism of that name wasn't lost on him either. He was a Slytherin, born and bred; sarcasm was his bread and butter.

"I have no idea."

As if on cue, or she knew they were being discussed, the red-head of the pair of women walked in the front door. Draco arched an eyebrow at the fact that she was alone. Ginny Weasley was a gossip-mongering twat and always seemed to be attached at the hip to someone, specifically a bushy-haired know-it-all. Draco turned to Blaise, a silver blond eyebrow arched as elegantly as one might expect.

"This is different," the Italian wizard mirrored his thoughts almost perfectly. "I wonder where Miss Sexy Librarian is."

The glare almost wasn't enough. Of course Blaise deemed the Gryffindor princess as attractive. Age and the ability to use most glamour spells had improved her looks entirely. And Zabini was always appreciative of fine female forms.

The dark-skinned Italian stood, and quickly moved towards the threshold separating the club from its entryway; the initiated from those unable to get in. He stopped for a moment to run a gentle hand along the back of the Watchit, still surprising his blond friend that it didn't maim or injure him. Draco spoke up, his voice not raising very loud, but knowing his friend could hear him.

"Give her a hint. Make it fun."

Blaise smirked over his shoulder at the Malfoy heir and winked before finally sauntering over the barrier stone. Draco shook his head; they were all going to be the death of him.

* * *

A/N: I used Sucker for Pain from Lil Wayne, Wiz Khalifa, Imagine Dragons With Logic, Ty Dolla Sign, and X Ambassadors for the little snippet of lyrics, again from the Suicide Squad soundtrack. Adrestia is the greek deity of revenge/ just vengeance, daughter of Ares, and the brothers are the Roman versions of the goddess' brothers.

Luna's creatures are important to me and possibly this story. I'm basing many of the ones not actually canon off the "Real Monsters" illustrations by Toby Allen. His tumblr is zestydoesthings. The Curatrix is essentially the PTSD monster.

I didn't mean to take almost five months to update, but life took a weird turn for the last bit of Twenty Sixteen.

\- Sin


End file.
